Snapped
by Tursipiel Althins
Summary: He's always loved her, but she keeps him at arm's length. She's the most frustrating woman in the world. Multiple character deaths, spoilers through season 2 finale. Rated M for language, violence, sex, and general darkness. Now complete.
1. Bad Dreams and PostIt Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own In Plain Sight or any of the characters. Probably a good thing, considering the story you're about to read…and I don't own the 3M company, either lol

So this is just a terribly disturbing idea I came up with while at the office today, silently fuming about how much I hate my job and blasting Within Temptation through my headphones to drown out the Jimmy Buffet CD that plays all day through the office speakers…

Rated M for language, violence, sex, the usual.

Warning! Multiple character deaths and general epic torturous-ness to follow in later chapters.

**Chapter 1: Bad Dreams and Post-It Notes**

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Her body moved so smoothly, so gently. He could see the muscles, taught under her skin. He could feel her breath on his neck, her soft skin against his chest, her hands exploring every inch of him. He was beyond all capacity for rational thought. He was acting solely on instinct now.

She raised her head from the mark she had just left on his neck, and leaned in to kiss him. He closed his hazy blue eyes, waiting for her soft lips to come crashing down on his. Suddenly he felt a rush of cold air, and she was gone. He opened his eyes to see her falling away into the darkness, her perfect body fading to nothing, the soft glimmer of a diamond on her left hand the last thing he saw before blackness enveloped him.

--

Marshall Mann awoke with a start, panting as though he had just run a marathon, all 26 miles and 385 yards. He sat up in his bed and untangled himself from his blankets. This wasn't the first time he had had a dream like this. But this time, it just seemed so _real_…

He stood up slowly and got a head rush anyway for his effort. He stood there next to his bed for a moment to regain his balance, and he looked at the clock. 3:14 AM. He vaguely registered the significance of this number. Pi time. _Jesus, man, you need sleep. Sleep is when the body and brain regenerate and heal._ He headed to his bathroom and shielded his eyes before turning on the light, shining stark and bright against the mirror and the tile. His eyes burned anyway.

Leaning over the sink, Marshall looked into the mirror and was hardly surprised to see that once again, there was a face staring back at him that looked like a chilled, pallid ghost of a sleep-deprived WitSec inspector. His eyes were bloodshot due to the early hour, and his forehead was glistening with a thin layer of sweat. He turned on the tap and rinsed his face in cool, clean, refreshing Albuquerque public water. "Get a hold of yourself, Marshall," he whispered to the face in the mirror. "You can't let her see you like this. Calm down and get some sleep."

After this stimulating little pep talk, he headed back to his bed and fell quickly into a light, troubled sleep.

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"What, did you stay up all night reading the encyclopedia again, Doofus?" The abrasive sound of Mary's insult woke Marshall with a start for the second time today. Was he ever going to get some real sleep? He lifted his head up from the desk and removed the Post-It note that had fastened itself to his jaw and rubbed his forehead where it had been pressed against the "Ctrl" key on his keyboard. He looked groggily at the sticky note.

"Did you know Post-It notes were invented accidentally?" he said, trying to act as thought he hadn't just been snoring on top of his paperwork.

"Does anyone but you?" asked Mary, glaring at him from her desk.

"Really. Dr. Spencer Silver was trying to invent a super-strong adhesive for the 3M company, and somehow he accidentally came up with this barely sticky but oddly useful formula." _God, she's even beautiful when she's annoyed,_ he thought.

"Really. I'm sure there's some sort of experimental treatment or something out there that could help you," she said, sassy as always.

"Thanks, but your concern really isn't necessary," he quipped back. _Neither is your sarcasm_, he thought. But he would never say it. Not to the woman he loved so much it hurt…

"Alright," said Stan, breaking Marshall's reverie. "The two of you have a new assignment coming in."

This was going to be a long day.

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They were heading back to the office after leaving the witness in the motel room for the night. Marshall was driving, and Mary was staring silently out the window. This witness had been a tough one. She threw the most spectacular hissy fit Marshall had ever seen when they told her she couldn't talk to any of her friends anymore, and she had to leave her boyfriend behind.

"But I love him!" she whined in a nasally, five-year-old-type voice, while stamping her feet on the ground.

"You've been on two dates. He's hot. You don't love him." This was Mary's response after listening to a solid half an hour of whining and crying about how she'll never make new friends and never be popular again. The girl was only 19, taken out of college to start fresh somewhere new after witnessing one of her "popular" friends get raped and murdered.

Marshall had always been, frankly, amazed by Mary's ability to be such a passionately caring woman and to still act like a cold-hearted bitch when someone really needed to hear that no one really cared. He had never quite managed to pull of the distancing that she worked so hard to project sometimes. Now, as he cast a surreptitious glance at the back of her head, he could almost see the walls collapsing. He always had a glimmer of hope in moments like these, that finally –

"What are you staring at, Doofus?" asked Mary, turning to him suddenly. "Keep your eyes on the road!" She was feeling very irritable. Clearly, that last wall was still up, the one that kept him at arm's length from the real Mary. His glimmer of hope faded. _Still_, he thought, _it's better than most people. She keeps everyone else a football field away._ Marshall set his eyes back on the road, clinging to whatever solace he could find in that thought, the last hope that kept him tied to sanity.

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Hope you liked it! Trust me, it's gonna get really dark really fast. Just a warning. Please review to let me know how you like it!


	2. The Land of Hallway

Disclaimer: In Plain Sight = not mine. So sad…

Anyway, here comes the promised darkness. And if it seems totally insane, it's due to the fact that I'm writing this at 3 AM and there's a Japanese beetle trapped somewhere between my desk and the wall and it's making little skritching noises and it has been for the last two hours and it's driving me BONKERS.

By the way, I haven't gotten any reviews, wich makes me sad...so no more updates until I get some reviews, k?

Spoiler warning for season 2 finale and previous episodes!

**Chapter 2: The Land of Hallway**

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Marshall walked into his house and headed straight for the fridge. He was tired after such a grueling day, and he wanted to relax with something alcoholic and see if he couldn't finally get some rest. He was starting to worry about how his own mental health would hold up if he didn't get some real sleep sometime soon. It had been a month or two since he had actually gotten a full night's rest. Ever since that night…he could picture her still form lying on the gurney, could feel her terrifyingly cool skin against his lips, could see the doctors rushing her away from him while that nurse held him back…God, the thought of it now was still like a white-hot knife in his chest. He had to stop for a moment and lean up against the fridge to catch his breath, which had hitched in his chest, and to try to get those images out of his head.

Finally he managed to stand upright again. He turned and opened the fridge to find that the only thing alcoholic left there was three lonely bottles of beer. He'd have to re-stock tomorrow. He grabbed one, pried it open with the bottle opener mounted on his wall, and headed for the sofa. As much as he wanted to get completely hammered and pass out, he knew he had work in the morning and didn't want to have to handle the new witness (Charisma was her old name, now she was known as Caroline) while nursing a massive hangover. So he stuck with one beer. One lonely bottle of beer, the third most popular drink in the world.

_One lonely, brokenhearted ghost of a man drinking one lonely bottle of beer. God, I'm pathetic_, he thought. _Except for that little incident at the engagement party, I can't even get up the guts to tell the woman I love more than anything how I feel about her. I'm like that pathetic high school nerd who couldn't talk to any girl not named Katinka._ He took a long, gratuitous swig of his beer. The cool amber liquid spread warmth through his body, and he felt his nerves steady a bit. _God, what am I coming to?_ He was getting frustrated with himself. Was he really going to let that block-headed ex-baseball star Rico Suavé, or whatever the hell his name was, take away the only person he had ever loved? This thought was just too much. Marshall took another mouthful of beer and then got up and paced for a bit. He stumbled slightly.

"OK," he said to himself, "beer, stress, and sleep deprivation are a terrible mix." He grabbed his beer anyway and headed toward the bedroom. The bottle was empty before he got to the door. He contemplated getting another, but that would require trekking all the way back across the Land of Hallway to the kitchen. Nothing was worth that journey. Not even beer.

He got to his bedroom and collapsed on his bed. _Sleep_, he thought, semi-coherently. _Sleep is good._ He promptly passed out.

--

He was running down a long, white hallway that seemed to go on forever. He could see her standing there, but it took what felt like an eternity to reach her. She was just standing there, smiling, but she looked sad. He just wanted to reach her and put his arms around her. She wasn't moving, but it still took forever to reach her, even though she was right in front of him. When he got there, she collapsed to the floor. He bent down over her, and she was bleeding from that bullet hole in her stomach. There was so much blood, sickly sweet and staining everything a morbid, rosy red. He held her up, one hand supporting her head while the other caressed her face.

"What do I do?" he asked through the tears that were streaming down his face.

"Gotta…" she gasped, "gotta get the bullet…out…"

"I can't, I can't!" he sobbed. "It went right through!" He didn't know what to do. He knew everything in the whole world in that moment, except for how to save the woman he loved.

"No," she said to him, reaching her blood-stained hand up to brush the tears from his face. "It's right here." She opened her hand, and there was the diamond ring, glowing like it had just been pulled out of a forge, scorching her perfect skin. He took it from her and held it over his heart, screaming and writhing in pain as it burned through his own flesh.

--

Marshall woke screaming that night. Tears soaked his face and his pillow, and his blankets were strewn everywhere. He felt groggy, probably a result of the beer. _Beer averages between 4% and 6% alcohol_, he remembered, though he didn't know why he knew this. He just knew that he couldn't deal with this any more. He got up and stumbled to the bathroom, his bloodshot eyes stinging in the sudden light. He needed some way to deal with it. He needed a release. _No, Marshall, you can't go back to that. Get a hold of yourself, man! You haven't done that since high school! You can't seriously be thinking of going back to that!_ But he was. He knew he would never be completely rid of this problem. Why else did he always keep a straight razor around? Why else was he so fond of long-sleeved shirts? It was just one more thing she had driven him to. One more thing to hide from her.

He wouldn't go deep, and he wouldn't go more than once or twice. But he needed it. He needed to feel the physical pain, the sharp, crisp blade and the sweet, warm blood. He needed anything he could find to distract him. To get her out of his mind.

He brought the blade close to his skin, an all-but-forgotten ritual…

He fell asleep that night on his bathroom floor, his face streaked with tears and his hands with blood.

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I warned you of the darkness. And believe me, it only gets worse.

Please review! No more updates until you do!


	3. Razor Lines

Disclaimer: In Plain Sight still manages to evade my grasp and remain, tragically, not mine.

To those two lovely fans who actually did bother to review, I humbly thank you, and that is why I'm now sitting up at 3:21 AM and writing a new chapter. And I'm once again listening to Within Temptation. I actually made a playlist just for inspiration for this story lol

**Chapter 3: Razor Lines**

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"God, it's hot out," said Mary. They were standing out in the blazing Albuquerque sun, currently enduring the hottest day in August thus far. They were waiting for their witness to finally decide what to wear to meet with her DOJ representative. Marshall stood there, as usual, in a long-sleeve button-down shirt and a dark jacket.

"It's the hottest this date has been since they started recording temperatures," said Marshall, sweat dripping down his face.

"And you're not gonna tell me exactly when that was?" she asked, mocking him. "Or is there actually some useless tidbit out there that you don't know?"

"Meteorology was never my strong suit," he said in an off-hand way. The truth was, he couldn't remember. He was slipping. The stress, the pain, the sleep-deprivation, the sense of failure after fleeing back to his old habits, it was all getting to him. It was tearing him up inside, but he couldn't let her see that. So while she took off her jacket and threw it into the SUV, where it landed in a crumpled heap on the seat, he just stood there and suffered through the record-breaking heat.

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They drove in silence. Mary knew something was bugging Marshall big time, but she knew better than to ask him in front of a witness. She couldn't wait for this day to be over, so she could get home and relax in her air-conditioned bedroom, away from the storm cloud that seemed to be following her best friend around, hanging over his head and just bringing a general air of tragedy.

--

Marshall kept his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, where he wouldn't have to see Mary's steadily more and more concerned glances at his stony composure. She was clearly suspicious of his total lack of speaking ever since they had gotten into the SUV. He tried to break the silence. "Caroline," he said, glancing into the rearview mirror to see his witness, "did you know that the ancient Egyptians used to rub plant extracts on their faces, carefully choosing colors to make their eyes and lips stand out?"

She glared up at him. "Who cares?" she asked, possibly even snottier than yesterday. "Did they have Covergirl? I didn't think so."

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

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It was late. Stan and Eleanor had long since gone home. Marshall was still at his desk, trying to catch up with his paperwork. God only knew why Mary was still there. She had been sitting there getting progressively more and more pissed off at the computer's pinball game for the last half an hour, making an art of ignoring the mountain of paperwork on her own desk.

"Y'know," said Marshall, looking up from the form he was filling out, "If you yell a little louder at it, the game might actually listen to you."

"Very funny, asshole," she said back at him. She got very emotional over pinball. "And speaking of attitude, what's with the whole Eeyore complex today? What, are you trying out a new image? Did you revert to high school emo kid?"

He stared blankly at the paper in front of him for a moment, all too aware of the perfectly even razor lines hidden under his long sleeves, before muttering a weak "I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

Marshall had never been as grateful as when Mary decided to just leave the subject alone for the time being.

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He didn't know where he was, and he didn't know what he was doing there. He just knew he needed to find her. He was searching franticly through the darkness, trying to make out her form, or catch a glimpse of that glittering diamond on her hand. He couldn't find her anywhere.

Then he was standing out in the open, in someone's front yard. He knew the house, recognized the barred windows and closed-in porch. It was dark out, but the lights were on, and he could hear incoherent shouting. He was standing next to a tree, and as he looked around, he saw some punk kid nearby reach behind his back for a gun. Before he reached it, there were two shots in quick succession, and he looked straight ahead just in time to see her fall to the ground, the angry red spilling out of the hole in her stomach rapidly. He looked down and realized his gun was drawn, pointing at where she had been, and that his finger was still squeezing the trigger.

--

Once again Marshall awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. At least this time the screaming was only in his head.

As tired as he was, he was almost afraid to go back to sleep again. These dreams were getting worse and worse every night. He got up out of his bed and headed to the kitchen to grab the bottle of whiskey he had bought earlier that day. _Alcohol solves everything_, he thought, then smirked slightly at the idiocy of this statement. But he couldn't help but feel that it was at least slightly true, as he sat a half an hour later with his feet up while watching some National Geographic special with his head in a slight haze and his thoughts more free of her unwelcome invasion than they had been in months.

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Hope you enjoyed it! Not quite so dark as the last, but just think of it as the calm before the storm.

And please review! Reviews are like the twisted, evil little fairy things that crawl into my brain at night and give me disturbing fanfic ideas. No, I'm not insane…XD


	4. Praying Mantis

Disclaimer: I hate writing disclaimers. From here on out, I own nothing of this show, or any random brand name or any such nonsense I refer to.

I feel loved now. I have a whopping five reviews! *sarcastic glare* Come on, people, you can do better than that! I know you're reading this. This story is on more alert lists than it has reviews. How does that work???

**Chapter 4: Praying Mantis**

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Marshall awoke to the harsh, abrasive sound of his phone ringing. He dimly registered that he had a pounding headache before answering. Mary's voice came angrily through the phone's earpiece like nails on a chalkboard in response to his grumbled "Hey."

"Where the hell are you, idiot?!" she practically screamed at him. Marshall looked groggily around for a clock. 10:43. _God, what a night_, he thought. He stood up from the couch where he had fallen asleep and almost fell back down again as a tidal wave of nausea swept over him. Mary's voice was insistent and grating. "Marshall? _Marshall!_"

"I'm here, I'm here!" he said, rubbing his temple gently. "Please keep your voice down," he pleaded.

"And why should I do that?" asked a clearly very pissed-off Mary. "Why should I keep my voice down for a man who can't even be bothered to answer his phone until it rings for the ten millionth time? Why should I do anything for you when you had Stan and me wondering all fucking morning whether you had been taken hostage or shot in your sleep or something like that, when it sounds to me like you just couldn't get your lazy, hung over ass out of bed?!" Even in his current state, Marshall recognized that Mary was on a tirade and absolutely would not, could not be deterred from achieving her goal of making her target miserable. And this time, her target was Marshall. This didn't stop him from protesting, though.

"Mary, please. My head feels like it's about to split open. Can I call you back when I'm slightly more capable of thinking?"

"No, how about this?" she asked, speaking so fast it could only be powered by blind fury. "How about you get your ass up and out of bed and get the hell down here to the office, because there is no way you're sticking me with this stuck-up, whiney little bitch to deal with all alone all day."

"Mary," he tried to continue, but she was really getting to him. As always. Her anger was always a terrifyingly beautiful thing to behold. Such power, such pure, raw force, focused to a laser-like intensity on whoever she was angry with. Like a raging storm, or a blazing fire, but far more concentrated than either of those could ever be. Yes, it was a beautiful thing to behold. Unless the laser was pointed directly at your forehead.

"What?!" she snapped back. "Gonna protest some more? Gonna insist that getting yourself hammered last night was part of some bullshit scientific thing you're about to make up on the spot?" She was really getting into the heat of her fury now.

Marshall couldn't deal with it anymore. He hung up the phone and pulled the cord out of the wall. He even turned off his cell so she couldn't try that, either. Before it turned off, he registered the notification on the screen: 12 missed calls. He grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey and flopped despondently back down on the sofa.

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Mary was furious. She had worried about him all morning. Legitimately worried. More so than she thought she should have. She had this feeling, like an empty pit in her stomach. What if something had happened to him? What if he was captured or killed by some powerful enemy of an old witness? What if she never got to see his face again? His face, his hair, his eyes…

Yes, Mary was absolutely ripping mad at him. What right did he have to make her feel that way? None. Absolutely none. And over a stupid hangover? And now he had the nerve to not only hang up on her, but to disconnect his phone AND turn off his cell phone? God, she was gonna kill him. She started heading out of the office to drive to Marshall's house and give him a good talking-to, and maybe pistol-whip him once or twice. When Stan asked where she was going, she said, "I'm going to commit first-degree murder."

"OK, then," said Stan, looking back down at his paperwork. "Tell Marshall I said hi before you kill him, would you?"

Mary stormed off, taking her almost palpable rage with her like a wake behind a speedboat. At least, if that speedboat had two Glocks and an axe to grind and was trained to kill.

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He lay on his sofa, oblivious to the world in a drunken state of half-consciousness, somewhere between dream and reality. He vaguely registered the documentary playing on the TV. Something about praying mantises. He sort of heard the narrator begin a discourse on their cannibalistic mating methods. She walked over and sat down next to him, running her fingers through his hair. She leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Before he knew what was happening, she was on top of him, pinning him to the couch and kissing him passionately, furiously. She tore off her own shirt and ripped his button-down open. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. His hands gladly moved up to explore her body, but she pushed them out of the way, pressing her body fiercely against his. He could feel her hands, however, exploring him. He felt his zipper being undone, and his body fairly shook with pleasure as she continued to undress and explore him. He could feel her tongue against the skin of his neck. He felt a soft bite, which sent shivers cascading down his spine. The soft bite grew harder, though, rather than releasing, and quickly grew to the point of actual pain. He gasped a bit, but she didn't respond. Now he could feel the skin of his neck break, his own warm blood now flowing freely down his neck and chest. He screamed with all he could muster, but she just kept to her task.

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Yeah. Mary tirade and disturbing praying mantis-y thoughts going through my head right now. Weird…


	5. The Moment of Truth

I actually do feel loved now. Fourteen reviews! I love you peoples dearly. And now for more of the creepy darkness that invades my brain at times like this, when it's been 22 hours since I last slept…

By the way, I feel I need to define this term before its use in this chapter. It is a term I have found much use for in my own life, and most people have use for it at some point but don't realize there's actually a term for it.

Shit-fuck: Interjection. A term used, often only mentally, upon the realization that due to past or current circumstances or events, you or someone you love is completely screwed over. It sums up all of the thoughts and feelings experienced in a moment like that. Example: _The girl accidentally let slip to her good friend, who had a crush on her, that she was dating his best friend and hadn't told him. Her only coherent thought in that moment:_ shit-fuck.

**Chapter 5: The Moment of Truth**

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Mary pulled into Marshall's driveway. She was still absolutely raging at him, but the drive had given her enough chance to calm down so that now she was pretty sure she could resist shooting him on the spot as soon as he opened the door. _After all_, she kept reminding herself, _he's just like everyone else in your life. You love him just a little bit more than you want him dead._

She walked up the path, resisting the powerful urge to draw her gun just in case she changed her mind about shooting him. When she got to the door, however, all those thoughts were immediately put out of mind by what she heard. Her partner was inside, screaming for his life.

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Marshall sat bolt upright, one hand clamped to his neck where he dreamed it was being gnawed away at. He looked at the bottle of whiskey on the floor next to the sofa. The terror of the dream had served to sober him up slightly, and he was just thinking of getting up to put the bottle away when he heard a _CRASH_ come from the direction of his front door.

"Marshall!" said Mary, who had just kicked the door in and was standing there in his living room, gun drawn, quite surprised to see Marshall perfectly alright and alone. "Marshall, are you OK?" She looked genuinely concerned now.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to stand up and promptly falling back onto the sofa. "Just having a little trouble walking is all."

"Yeah, let's go with that," said Mary, eyeing the half-empty whiskey bottle now clenched in Marshall's fist. "Let's get you cleaned up," she said, holstering her gun with a heavy sigh. She walked over to him and helped him stand up, letting him drape an arm around her shoulder. She couldn't help but remember that the last time she had helped him like this, he had had a bullet in his chest.

She took the whiskey bottle from him gently and set it on the kitchen table as they headed unsteadily to the bathroom. When they got there, Mary let Marshall lean up against the wall so she could turn on the faucet. He promptly slumped to the floor.

"Oh, God, Marshall," Mary said quietly. "What's wrong with you?" She dabbed at his face with a cold, wet towel to try to clean off some of the sweat that came with nightmares like the ones he'd been having.

Marshall only looked into her eyes as a way of answering.

"Marshall, listen to me," she said as his eyelids started to droop. She knew he was about to pass out again. "Why were you screaming? What happened?"

He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "praying mantis." Mary shook him gently to try to rouse him into coherence. He woke up enough to look at her and say, "Praying mantises are cannibalistic. The females bite off the males' heads during the mating process." Then he passed out.

_Figures_, Mary thought. _I try to save his life and all he can think about is bug sex._ She heaved a heavy sigh as she tried to arrange him into a more comfortable position so that when he woke up he would only have to deal with a hangover, not cramps and muscle aches from passing out against the bathroom wall. She grabbed his wrist to move his arm out of the way so she could at least lay him down flat, but when she did, she noticed something. Something low on his wrist. Three perfectly straight cuts, now closed and just beginning to heal. _Jesus, Marshall, what did you do to yourself?_

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He was staring down an empty hall. His eyes were filled with tears. He could see her walking toward him, steady and true, an inevitable, indomitable force that could not be stopped. As she drew closer, he could feel a light, familiar pain in his wrist. He looked down and saw that the razor lines were bleeding freely again. Suddenly his head was splitting in unbearable agony, growing worse and worse as she grew closer and closer. He tried to tell her to go away, to make it stop, but he was beyond forming words. She just kept coming closer.

Before he could make any sense of the situation, her arms were around his waist, and she was staring deep into his eyes, now almost completely obscured with tears of agony. He had to make it stop. It was so easy to just let the knife slide ride into her stomach, and watch her fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. The pain went away, and darkness crept in.

--

"Marshall," said Mary, patting his face to wake him up. He had only been out for a minute or two, but there was no way she was leaving him here alone after what she had just seen. "Marshall!"

At last his bright blue eyes fluttered open. He looked up at her with a look that terrified her. There was definitely fear there, and definitely pain, but there was something else beneath all that. Something that made his gaze almost unbearable to meet. She had only seen a look like that once before. It was the same look of pure hatred that was in Jinx's eyes as her husband drove away, abandoning her and her two little girls.

The look passed in a moment, as he realized he wasn't dreaming anymore. Mary didn't want to know what he had been dreaming that had put such a terrible look in his eyes. "Marshall, what's been going on?"

He tried to push himself back up into a sitting position. "I've been having trouble sleeping," he said weakly.

Mary grabbed his wrist and held it up in the light to show him he cuts she had just found. "Marshall, these don't come from trouble sleeping. Tell me what's going on."

He cast around for any answer. "You wouldn't understand," he said irritably, pulling his wrist out of her grasp. "It's my problem, not yours."

Mary looked at him in disbelief. "Look at you! Do you even have any idea what you're _saying_?" She looked incredulous. "Do you realize what you're doing to yourself?" She had to fight to keep the tears back through that last sentence. She couldn't believe that Marshall, _her_ Marshall, her cheerful, annoying, brilliant, goofy Marshall, would do this to himself. As he tried to push himself up the wall into a standing position, she cast around for any clue that might tell what was wrong with him. What was so great and terrible that it could make a man like Marshall resort to something like this?

Then it clicked.

"_I hope you know that...I love you."_

Shit-fuck.

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And the plot thickens…*dramatic music*


	6. Alcohol Solves Everything

.Maker, thank you for FINALLY reading my fics…I practically had to beg lol

And thank you so much to all of my loyal reviewers. Seeing that people like my work so much makes me feel so good about myself…of course, then I have to go reread this fic to get me back into the depressing mood I need to be in to write it properly :P

Anywho, here's the next chapter! And here's a treat for you all: it's a longer chapter!

**Chapter 6: Alcohol Solves Everything**

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"Marshall," she said, bending down and forcing him to look at her. He had given up his attempts to stand upright again. He was the perfect picture of a broken man. All the light and life was gone from his eyes. She couldn't bear it anymore. She broke away from his gaze so he wouldn't notice the tears welling up in her eyes. "You need to pull yourself together. I need you to pull together."

His eyes followed her as she stood up and paced in a circle.

"I can't do this alone, Marshall. I need you to be there for me. You're the only one who can actually put up with me all the time." She couldn't believe she was actually telling him all of this. "I know you. I know why you're doing this to yourself. But, really, what are you thinking? Is this your version of a romantic gesture? Is this your way of showing me what I mean to you? Because, frankly, I'm not impressed." She knelt down next to him again. "I need you to be you. I need you to be Marshall." She turned and looked him in the eye again. "Can you do that for me?"

He thought for a moment. Then he nodded gently.

"Thank you," she said, and she earnestly meant it. She got up to walk out of the bathroom. She stopped at the door and asked him, "Can you get to your bed yourself?" He nodded again, and as if to demonstrate, he stood up, this time actually making it to his feet. She looked at him one more time. "Good. Get some rest. You need it." She stayed to make sure he actually made it into bed before collapsing again. Once he was unconscious, she went back into the bathroom and searched through the cabinet above the sink until she found what she was looking for: a small straight razor, the blade covered in dried blood. She pocketed it and turned around to leave. She took one last look at her partner before walking out of the bedroom, and she felt a sharp pang in her chest at the sight of him lying there in such a terrible state. She closed the door behind her on the way out.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

He was standing in her kitchen, and she was nowhere to be seen. He turned around to find a bloodied knife lying on the counter. He turned away from the sight, only to find a blood-soaked bullet sitting on the table. He leaned over the sink, hoping to find something less morbid there. He could see something glinting at the bottom of the soapy water. He rolled back his sleeve and reached down to grab whatever it was. The sink was far deeper than it looked, and the water was warm. It smelled sickeningly sweet, like no water should ever smell. Finally, when his arm was in the water almost up to his shoulder, he felt something. He grabbed it and pulled it out. His arm was soaked in blood, and in his hand was a shiny diamond ring.

"Isn't it beautiful?" said a voice behind him. "Don't you love it?" He turned around to see her standing there. He thought he saw a glimpse of death, a flash of blood, but he shook it off when he saw that she was OK. He walked over to her.

"It's gorgeous," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I'm so happy for you."

She looked disappointed.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I thought you loved me…" she trailed off.

"I do," he said, now truly confused.

"Then why are you letting me marry him?" she asked, pleading with her eyes. The image flashed before him again, and this time he was sure he saw her lying unconscious on the floor, covered in blood. But it passed just as quickly as the first, and she was standing in front of him once again.

He took a moment to regain his bearings. "I thought that was what you wanted," he explained. "I only wanted you to be happy."

She looked up into his eyes and asked him, with more pure, honest longing than he had ever heard in anyone's voice, "How could I ever be happy without you? How could I ever live without you?"

He held her close, and for a moment everything was alright. He felt the warmth of her body against his, and the world around them ceased to be. But suddenly, that warmth was a little too warm. Marshall pulled back from her for a moment and saw the blood spreading from the knife in her stomach, the one his hand was wrapped around.

--

No matter how many times it happened, Marshall still took a moment to regain his bearings after waking with a start from one of those dreams. He looked around. It was clearly night time. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious for. He just hoped he hadn't done anything stupid.

He looked at his phone and saw that there was only one day missing from his memory, which was good, he supposed. The last thing he remembered was grabbing the bottle of whiskey and turning on the TV while thinking _alcohol solves everything_. He once again laughed at the irony of this statement, though he had no idea how wrong it truly was. He was just glad he had finally slept off the drunkenness and now only had the massive headache to deal with. He headed to the bathroom for an aspirin. He didn't notice anything missing when he got there.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Mary sat in silence at her kitchen table. Raph and Brandi were out at the movies or some such nonsense, and God only knew where Jinx was. Mary didn't particularly care right now. She just needed to be alone so she could think.

Her return to the office that morning replayed in her head.

_She walked in the door and sat down quietly behind her desk. Stan came out of his office and asked what was up with Marshall. "He's resting," she responded. "He needs it. Trust me."_

"_Why?" asked Stan, suddenly concerned. "What happened?"_

"_He got in a fight last night."_

"_Oh, God. With who?"_

"_A bottle of whiskey. I'll give you three guesses who won." Stan took the look on her face as a hint and went back into his office to avoid getting any brains on him when her head exploded. Eleanor didn't even dare open her mouth in front of Mary, but as soon as Stan's door closed, Eleanor was practically running toward his office to discuss what happened. Mary noticed, but she did everything she could to pretend not to care._

She didn't know what to do. She knew he needed help, but she knew if she told Stan, he would send Marshall to Shelly Finkle, who was the last person Marshall needed prying open his deepest thoughts right now. No, he needed someone else. This was something that was going to require a lot more thought.

She continued to play back the highlights of her day in her head.

_She knocked twice on the door of the apartment. "Caroline," she called, "It's me, Mary Sheppard. I've got your groceries."_

_Caroline opened the door and let Mary in. She looked the haggard inspector up and down once and immediately knew there was something wrong. "Where's your boyfriend?" she asked in her best I'm-prettier-than-you voice._

"_My boyfriend?" Mary looked confused._

"_You know, that tall, handsome cop who usually drives you around."_

"_First off, we're not cops, we're US Marshals," said Mary, immediately pissed at this obnoxious little bitch. "And second, he's not my boyfriend. He's my partner."_

"_Oh, yeah?" asked Caroline, a smirk on her face._

"_Yeah. In fact, I've got a fiancée," said Mary._

"_Then why don't you wear a ring?" asked Caroline, pointing at Mary's left hand._

"_That's none of your business. And as a matter of fact, neither is my partner's whereabouts. So why don't you get used to the whole secrecy thing and practice by not asking me obnoxious questions?"_

"_Y'know, you guys are really just bullies," said Caroline, looking hurt. "At least he was cute." And with that, she stormed off to her bedroom and left Mary standing in her kitchen holding a bag of groceries._

The worst part was, that was probably the most cheerful conversation she had had all day.

Mary reached into her pocket and pulled out the razor she had stolen from Marshall's earlier that day. She held it up in the light and marveled at how something so simple as a bloodied blade could signify so much pain and desperation. She heaved a heavy sigh and put the blade back in her pocket. Today had been too much. Way too much. She laid her head down on the table and cried.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Marshall was feeling better, now that the aspirin had kicked in and he had taken a cold shower to wake himself up fully. Now he could think.

No matter what he tried to think about, her face kept floating back into his mind. He had started to remember bits and pieces of the day's happenings. For one thing, he remembered most of the phone conversation with Mary, though he couldn't seem to quite figure out how it had ended.

He remembered the dream he had had while passed out on the bathroom floor, and he shuddered when he remembered how he had woken up from it. In the dream, she was causing him so much pain that he hated her enough to kill her. He couldn't bear the thought that some of that hatred had lingered even after he awoke. That look on her face, though, when he opened his eyes, was heart-wrenching. He remembered the momentary flare of rage and hatred that ended immediately when he saw the look on her face. It was a looked of pure shock and betrayal.

_Just another image to file away under "Heart-Stopping Painful Memories,"_ he thought.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

I figured I'd share the load of such immense darkness with Mary a bit, too. But no one's out of the woods yet. Trust me, it just can't be that easy. *evil grin*


	7. Just Another Day in Paradise

Here's another chapter for my loyal fans! Lol hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 7: Just Another Day in Paradise**

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

If a random stranger had walked into the WitSec office just then, they never would have suspected anything was wrong. In fact, they would have been astounded to learn about the events of the previous day. But the truth was, they had happened, and no amount of forced normality would change that.

Mary hadn't said anything to Stan or Eleanor since the remark about Marshall's "fight" with a bottle of whiskey. They knew better than to pry, but that didn't stop them from speculating. They could tell something was seriously wrong with Marshall, they just didn't know what.

--

Marshall sat at his desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. It was a slow day in the WitSec office, a rare occurrence that would usually be celebrated with escalated abuse from Mary. Today, though, she was silent. _God, Mare, what did I say to you yesterday?_ he thought, racking his brain. Try as he might, he couldn't remember what might have happened to cause her steely silence. He just hoped it wasn't anything unforgiveable, though judging by her demeanor today, it had been pretty bad.

Mary sat up in her chair, scoping out the room. She looked pointedly at Eleanor, who was doing paperwork and didn't notice the look, but who was clearly listening intently for any information that might clue her in as to what was going on. Mary slouched back again, and pulled out her phone and started texting. No sooner had she put her phone down than Marshall's phone buzzed. Marshall gave her a look of complete disbelief. He was actually rather amused that she had resorted to texting him when he was right there in front of her. He looked at the phone and saw the message. There was just one word on the screen: "Why?"

Marshall looked up at Mary for clarification. Her hand reached into her pocket. She pulled something out just far enough for Marshall to see it. It was small. And shiny. And bloodstained.

He felt a torrent of emotions flooding into him all at once. He was terrified and mortified that she had found out his big secret. He was appalled that she was being so forward about it. And he was furious that she had stolen his razor, that she thought she could keep him from doing this again, from finding comfort and sweet relief. He was starting to truly hate the fact that she thought she could control him.

He texted her back. "NOYB." This was met with a look of confusion from Mary as she tried to sound the word out. Marshall texted again for clarification. "None of your business."

In a moment, he was reading the words on the screen that said "Wtf do u mean by that?"

His response was two simple words. "Elevator. Now." He got up and walked toward the elevator. Mary hesitated for a moment and the followed close behind.

As soon as they were both in the elevator, Marshall pushed the emergency stop button, thus locking them in place so as not to be disturbed. Mary immediately turned to him, now pissed off at his deliberate attempts to push her away. "What the hell do you mean, Marshall, it's 'none of my business'?"

"I mean that this is my problem, Mary," he said, his tone somewhere between furious and pleading. "Not yours. You don't get to barge in and try to fix things just because you don't like seeing them broken." He looked away from her, unwilling to meet her eyes.

"Marshall," she started, but was cut off.

"No, you listen," he said. "I don't know what the hell I might have said to you yesterday. I barely remember anything from yesterday. But you can't fix this. This is mine to fix." He stared at the floor, fighting back the tears.

Mary looked at him intently. It had been a while since she had really, _really_ looked at him. How could she have missed this? How could she have let her best friend sink so low? How could she have failed so miserably? She put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Marshall, look at me." He made no move to comply. "Look at me," she said, her tone somewhat sharper now. He looked up into her eyes, and she could see the tears glistening in his own. She looked deep into his clear blue eyes and said with all the conviction in her being, "Marshall, I love you."

Time stopped. Marshall felt like his heart had stopped with it.

"But,…"

_Of course_, he thought. _There's always a 'but.'_

"But I can't do this. I can't leave Raph, and you know we can't have each other and both keep our jobs here. I just can't." She let his gaze drift. "Do you get what I'm saying?" she asked.

Suddenly Marshall's eyes snapped back up to meet hers. The anger in his gaze was almost palpable. "When are you gonna stop jerking me around?" he hissed, his eyes reduced to slits of fiery blue as she backed up against the wall, actually afraid of her partner. "When are you gonna tell me just what the _fuck_ you're playing at?" He was right up in her face, his nose inches from hers as his eyes burned into her with cold, silent fury. "I've always been there, haven't I? I've always stuck around, no matter what happened. Marshall the Punching Bag. Marshall the Whipping Boy. Marshall the fucking sick puppy, following my master around no matter how many times you kick me. I've always been here, waiting for you, and you shut me out. Time after God damn time. Well, that's it. I'm done. To fucking hell with this." Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the emergency stop button. The elevator clamored to life again, bringing them down to the bottom floor. The door hissed open and Marshall left.

"Marshall," Mary tried to call after him, but it was too late. He was gone. When the door closed, she hit the stop button again. She didn't go back upstairs again until she could stop the tears.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Marshall didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know where he was going or why. He just needed to drive. He needed to feel the power of the car around him, the cool night wind in his face, the gentle roar of the engine as he floored the accelerator along the empty desert road.

He had gone through a lot in the last couple of days. He still couldn't remember exactly what had taken place on the bathroom floor the previous morning, but he knew it wasn't good. He wanted to just put it all out of his mind. The desert air in his face was already making his eyes water, so at first he didn't notice the tears welling up that had nothing to do with the wind. But eventually they obscured his vision so much that he couldn't see to drive, so he pulled over. And there, in the middle of the desert, he broke down and cried.

He fell asleep that night with tearstains on his face, slumped over the steering wheel because he didn't even have the energy to move to the back and lie down.

--

She was standing in front of him, wearing a wedding gown, looking absolutely beautiful in white. He couldn't take his eyes off her, as much as he wanted to. She wasn't his now. She had never really belonged to him, but now she was solidly, legally, permanently marked as "not his." He couldn't stand it. He turned and started running, just blindly running from everything. But he couldn't escape. Around every corner, he saw her face, her perfect face, her tortured face, her _beautiful fucking face_. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Why are you following me?!" he screamed at her. "Leave me alone!"

The face said nothing. She just keep staring at him, watching his every move. It was beyond unnerving. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't. He drew his gun and started firing at her, just to get that face away from him, but she was everywhere, surrounding him, choking him off.

--

Marshall awoke to find that the sun was rising over the desert, and he had a pain in his head where he had been using the steering wheel as a pillow. He needed to get home, where he could think properly and try to sort these things out. He moved to start the car, and found that his entire body was stiff and cramped from sleeping in the driver's seat. _Great_, he thought. _Something else to deal with_. He started the SUV and headed home.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! This one took me a bit longer to write. Hope it was worth it!


	8. Keeper of the Beast

I've recently come to accept that I just love writing tragedy. It's kind of unfortunate. I guess I just have a dark imagination…

**Chapter 8: Keeper of the Beast**

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Mary didn't know how she got through the rest of the day. In fact, looking back on it, it all seemed rather blurry. Except, of course, for the part she most wanted to forget.

"_Well, that's it. I'm done. To fucking hell with this."_

She would never be able to forget the look in his eyes just before he left. He looked beyond hurt, even beyond broken. He looked…manic. There was clearly fury raging in him, along with hurt and sorrow and heartbreak, and every other bad emotion she could think of. But gleaming over all of it, like a sickly coating for it all, was an undeniably crazed glint in his eyes.

She sat on the sofa, trying to think. Everyone else was asleep. What was she gonna do? What could she do? She didn't know. Eventually, she fell into a fitful, restless sleep, the tears only just kept from spilling over.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Marshall didn't remember the drive home. He just knew he needed to figure things out. He couldn't go back. He couldn't face her again. He couldn't deal with that pain, that burning hole in his chest that she created. He couldn't go on living here at all. There were too many painful memories, not the least of which had happened in the last few days.

What he needed was a plan, a place to go, to escape to. But as hard as he tried to think of somewhere, he couldn't think of a place. It was suddenly becoming all too apparent to him: he was trapped here. It wasn't an inability to get out; it was simply that he had nowhere to go if he did. She had been his only friend. His family wouldn't take him in, he was sure of that. Especially not if he simply abandoned his job the way he was planning to.

And that was another thing. If a US Marshal just up and abandoned his post, he could be sure that people would be looking, no, _hunting_ for him. He was fleeing, they were chasing. He was the prey, the world the predator. He needed to get away, before the hunter caught his scent. But where would he go?

He went to his bedroom and started packing. Then he thought better of it. If he had learned anything from his years in WitSec, it was that taking things from your past with you was a sure way to be found. He would never be able to let go of everything if he took anything with him but the essentials.

He glanced at a clock. It was just after 9 AM. The drive back from the desert had taken quite some time. He had been trying to do last night exactly what he still wanted to do now: put as many miles between himself and the mess he had left behind him. Only now, he had the mental capacity to realize he had nowhere to go. When this crushing realization finally became inescapable, he felt his knees buckle under him and he simply collapsed on his bedroom floor and sobbed hopelessly into the carpet. When he finally looked up, she was standing in front of him. He was quite sure he was awake, but there she stood, looking for all the world like it was _her_ heart that had been ripped from _her_ chest, not his.

She walked over to him and knelt down in front of him. She wiped the tears from his face and gazed into his eyes with a look of gut-wrenching pain and sorrow. He wanted more than anything to turn away and not have to face her anymore, but he found that he simply couldn't. He was trapped. Trapped in Albuquerque, trapped in her gaze, trapped by this beast that was hunting him relentlessly. Trapped by his exotic animal, whom he had once protected from the world, and whom he had protected the world from. The beast had finally turned on its keeper, and he was trapped like a rat in its claws.

"Marshall, don't leave me," she said, her voice sounding deceptively sweet and sad. He felt so drawn to her. "I can't live without you," she said to him. "I can't."

He tried with all that was in him to resist. He tried to turn away, to run, to get away from her. But he wasn't strong enough. His resolve finally broke, and against his will, he reached up to touch her face. She leaned toward him and her eyes fluttered shut. Her perfect lips were mere inches away from his. He leaned in toward her, and suddenly she was gone. He felt what was left of his heart shatter within him. He was broken. Truly broken, with no hope of repair.

He didn't know how much time had passed as he lay there on his bedroom floor, numb to everything. It could have been minutes, or it could have been days. He didn't particularly care. His mind was like a TV channel that wasn't coming in, all fuzzy and gray and blank. He lay there on his floor, not thinking, not feeling, just blank.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Mary called in sick that day. She didn't think she could handle the idea of the office with Marshall not there. And if he did show up, she _definitely_ couldn't handle it. She needed time to think. She needed time to recover.

The house was empty. Brandi, Jinx, and Raph were all out for the day. Mary didn't really care where they were, and didn't bother to waste the brainpower to realize that some people actually had gone to work that day. She had more important things on her mind.

She was still haunted by that look in her best friend's eyes. She had finally done it. She had finally pushed and pushed and pushed him until he snapped. She had finally broken him. She didn't know what to do with this realization. She didn't know how to fix a person. She could fix a car, a door, maybe even a vase, but a person? She was pretty sure people were a bit more complicated than a wrench or some superglue.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Marshall didn't know or care how long he had been lying there. He didn't know anything at all right then. And then it came to him. The one thought that came through the fuzz, the one memory that tuned in loud and clear.

"_How could I ever live without you?"_

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

And there's your regularly scheduled 5 AM update! Tune in tomorrow morning to see what happens next!


	9. A Dozen Bloody Roses

Things are getting intense, and it's getting tougher and tougher for me to make things work they way I want them to, rather than the way the story wants to go. I guess I just have to accept that some stories write themselves with no heed to the person whose name is written at the top.

Anyway, thank you all for sticking around this long. It's been a crazy ride, and now it draws to a close…

**Chapter 9: A Dozen Bloody Roses**

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

"_How could I ever live without you?"_

This one thought opened the floodgates, and in flowed countless thoughts.

"_Tell me what's going on."_

"_Are you OK?"_

"_I can't do this alone."_

"_Why are you letting me marry him?"_

"_I need you…"_

"_I thought you loved me…"_

"_How could I ever be happy without you?"_

"_Marshall, I love you."_

"_I can't live without you."_

These last words were screaming in his brain now. How could he let her go through all this alone? How could he let her live without him? She clearly needed him, and she needed him now.

He had a purpose now, a place to go. He grabbed the bag that was half-packed with essentials for becoming a fugitive and headed out to the black SUV. He was still running, but at least now he was running to something, not from it.

*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*MM*

Mary was pacing a furious circle in the carpet. How could she let the problem get this far out of control? How could she not notice the pain and suffering her best friend was going through? How could she not realize how much he loved her? How could she not realize how much she loved him?

One thing was sure: there was no going back now. She couldn't dwell on the past. She needed to think about how she could help her best friend, her only fiend, the one person who really mattered to her, before he did something drastic. But no matter how much she racked her brain, she couldn't think of a solution that wouldn't simply serve to drive him over the edge.

She sat down on the couch in despair. As soon as she did, though, she heard the doorbell ring. _Who the hell could that be?_ She got up and walked to the door. She looked out the peephole in the door and saw something that almost made her heart stop.

--

Marshall stood outside of Mary's front door, dressed in his best black coat and scarf, holding a dozen roses. He had rung the doorbell once already and was about to ring it again when it opened. Mary stood on the other side, looking haggard and tired. Marshall knew instantly that he had been right; he needed to be here more than he needed to not be here.

He looked carefully at her, not wanting to startle the beast that held him in its grasp, toying with him like a cat with a mouse. She returned the cautious look, then invited him in with a gesture of the head. He walked in and closed the door behind him. He looked deeply into her eyes. He saw the pain there and the worry, and he couldn't take it anymore. He had to do it now, or he wouldn't be able to do it at all.

"I'm sorry, Mary," he said. He dropped the forgotten roses and reached for her, pulling her into a deep and passionate kiss. He felt her resist and fight at first, until the shock wore off. Then she responded more warmly, practically melting in his arms as everything from the past few days slid from conscious thought.

They remained like that for a few moments before Mary broke apart from him to look into his eyes. "Damn, Marshall," she breathed. "What the hell?" That was about the only thought she was capable of at the moment, as he pulled into another kiss.

Marshall was rather satisfied with himself. It was working. He had caught the beast off-guard, and now she was more vulnerable than ever. _She thought she had me trapped. But look who's trapped now, _he thought with what was the closest thing to glee he had felt in a long time. Because she didn't know. She didn't suspect a thing. She didn't even feel his hands leave her body to reach into his own pocket. In fact, she felt nothing but his lips on hers and a sudden sharp pain in her stomach.

She backed away from him, looking in horror from his face to the knife protruding from her stomach and back again. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She coughed into her hand, and her hand was covered in blood. She had that taste in her mouth, sickeningly sweet and harshly metallic. It was so strong, she didn't know if it would ever go away. She flashed back to the basement, to seeing Chuck shot to death next to her. That scent…that was her last thought as she crumpled to the floor.

Marshall looked at her pathetic form. That was what was left of his exotic animal. It had to be put down. It was far too dangerous, and it clearly couldn't be let loose on the world to claim other victims. No, this had to be finished. He delicately stroked her face, running his fingers through her hair. She was so beautiful, so majestic, and so fiercely deadly. He pulled the knife out of her stomach. It had slid in so easily…

He gazed longingly at the blade, aching for its sweet brand of relief. But he had other business to attend to first.

He allowed his gaze to travel back to her face, and he saw a pair of feet standing over her. He looked up, and there she stood, staring at him in pained sorrow and betrayal. Her white shirt was soaked in blood from the open wound in her stomach, but she didn't seem to notice. She was looking in horror at the still, unconscious form on the floor.

"How could you?" she asked, her voice shaking from the emotions coursing through her body. "How could you? I trusted you. You were my only friend. I loved you. And now…" She couldn't bring herself to continue.

"It had to be done," he said, his voice smooth and steady. "It had to be done."

"How can you say that?!" she practically screamed at him.

He simply kept repeating, "It had to be done, it had to be done." This was his chant, his mantra. It kept the screaming and protesting out of his mind entirely as he slid the blade lovingly across her throat. He was instantly rewarded as a gush of sweet, dark red came flowing out of her smooth, supple neck, and the protesting woman faded from view.

He gazed amorously at his work, like an artist marveling at his latest masterpiece. He understood now why so many people spent day after day killing people, and why so many of them returned to their old ways after years of innocent complacency. It was beautiful. The way the blood flowed so smoothly, the way the body fell limp and let itself be bathed in such a lovely color. The smell of death wasn't anything like he had imagined. He could smell its sweetness, and he wanted nothing more than to have that sweetness with him always. He brought the blade close to his wrist.

_Just a little deeper this time_, he thought as he brought it slowly across, savoring the crisp, sharp feeling. It was the last thing he felt before the darkness took him in.

The boquet of roses lays between the two still forms, soaked in their mingled blood.

~Fin~


End file.
